keywords: Jennifer Compton

There are weary smiling workers recovering from a Thursday night event. There are men planning this, the second weekend, with their family. There are married couples — one in the throes of giving up hope of being touched, the other working hard to ensure the weekend is chaste.

A young man, made of ebony, from Senegal or Somalia or the Côte d'Ivoire, sat down beside me gracefully… I gave him the twenty euro that I had to hand. Stammering, ill at ease, he asked me what I had in mind.